Baked Tacos. Sort of.

A few weeks ago, Henry made baked tacos for dinner. Have you ever? Well you need to. They're AH-MA-ZING. The girls LOVED them, ESPECIALLY Megan. (Click here for the recipe. You're WELCOME.)

After tasting them, I was convinced I'd never be able to make them myself, because I don't cook, remember? But Henry thought I could, because I've actually browned ground beef before (a miracle in and of itself, I'm aware.) Then you just add a few things to the browned ground, sprinkle cheese and bake.

Tonight I thought I'd give it a whirl. I told Megan of my intentions, and she was majorly on board. Amanda, on the other hand, reminded me that they already had Mexican food a couple nights ago, which hello? What kind of totally awesome-sauce of a week is it when you have MEXICAN food TWICE?! Anyway, it was Taco Bell, to be exact, because Henry & I went out for dinner ALONE to celebrate 19 years of mawidge (ala Princess Bride). I know. NINETEEN!!! Crazy.

Alright, so since Henry was working late, and Amanda was gonna have some microwavable fare, it was just me & the Megster for baked tacos, which was fine with me.

I made them. Let me say that again. I. MADE. THEM. Aaaaand they were FABULOUS.  I'm not even kidding. The baker in me, who's most comfortable working with the likes of BUTTER, SUGAR and CHOCOLATE in the kitchen, actually COOKED tonight. WITH MEAT. 

As Meg got down to her last 3 bites ...

Meg:  Why are these so runny? Dad's weren't this runny.

Me:  Well I used DAD'S recipe, so they MUST have been this runny.

Meg:  They weren't. What's in these?

Me:  It might be the tomato sauce.

Meg then proceeded to gag on the food that was in her mouth, which 2 seconds ago was perfectly yummy.

Meg:  GROSS!!!

Me:  There's nothing gross about tomato sauce! You were FINE with them when DAD made 'em.

Meg:  Blech. I'm done.

Me:  So I guess this means I NEVER have to make THESE again, huh?

She shook her head and walked away. 

Me:  FINE! GOOD! This is why I NEVER COOK!!


They can eat cold cereal for dinner the rest of their live long days for all I care. As if cooking every night isn't lame enough, cooking for KIDS is just STUPID.

I am officially on strike.